The Man with Magic Hands Ch. 11
"Can I take a name?" I replied. This always seemed the politest way to determine the gender of a caller without actually asking outright.
"Fiona."
"Er... is this for yourself?"
"What? No, of course not! My wife, Fiona. I'm Dave." Good, I thought, that has at least cleared up one question. Although it opened up several more.
"Sorry. Bad line," I mumbled. I checked exactly what they were looking for, price, dates and times. All the usual questions. It still felt a little odd. I mean, nothing wrong with a guy booking a massage for his wife. In fact, a beautiful, loving gesture, I would say. But often there's some ulterior motive, like wanting to watch, take photos, video etc. It's always good to find out if there are any additional requirements.
"That all sounds fine to me," I said, then paused, waiting. Hubby hesitated then spoke, a little quieter this time.
"Can you give her, urm, you know... a happy ending?" He said. Bingo! I thought, now we're getting somewhere. This is where I have to speak with absolute caution, both from a legal perspective as well as a moral one.
"All you're paying for is a full body relaxation massage," I stated firmly. "What Fiona does after that is entirely up to her." Essentially, I was saying: "I'm not a fucking prostitute, mate! But in my spare time..."
"I don't think she really knows what she wants. But I would love to see her..." He paused. I guess he realised that it was his turn to speak with care. "...you know? Have a good time," he finished.
Alarm bells rang in my head. Thankfully, this wasn't the first time I'd received a call like this. I sighed inwardly.
"Does she know you're making this booking?" I said plainly.
"Erm... not yet."
"Are you suggesting I seduce your wife?"
"Could you?" he replied meekly.
"That would be rape," I said plainly.
"Oh, no, she would have to consent," he stuttered, beginning to realise his error.
"Still rape," I said clearly. "I suppose you would want to hear all about it? Or see pictures? Maybe a hidden camera? All forms of rape. If you plan to seduce a woman by withholding information that might otherwise cause her not to give consent then it's rape. Even your own wife."
I guess he finally got the message. "Oh," he mumbled. He sounded genuinely dejected. A wild fantasy dashed in seconds.
"Look, I said, just talk to her. Loads of guys fantasise about their wives being pleasured by other men. And more often than not, their wives are fantasising about the exact same thing."
"Not sure I could do that," he mumbled. "She might not take kindly to that line of chat."
To be honest, I didn't hold out much hope for this loser, but I felt sorry for him a little.
"How about this. Just mention my massage service. Offer to pay for a session if she wants one. Leave it to her to decide if she does. And if she books, I'll let you know how it goes."
It was a bit of a fib. I had no intention of letting him know how it went, unless, of course, Fiona agreed to that. Privacy and consent are a bloody minefield!
I almost instantly forgot the whole conversation until about a week later. I was arranging a session with a new lady so, as usual, asked for her details.
"It's Fiona," she chirped. A bell rang in the depths of my brain.
"Oh, of course!" I said, instantly recognising the name.
"Sorry? Do we know each other?" She replied. Oops.
"Er, no. I play little games sometimes, trying to guess a caller's name. Looks like I got it right for once!" Totally lame but I was thinking on my feet. Extremely suspicious but she seemed to have bought it. I quickly deflected.
"So, was I recommended?" I enquired, innocently.
"Well funny you should ask," she said dropping to a whisper. "A friend of mine is one of your, um, regulars. Vanessa Martin? She spoke very, er, highly of you."
I was slightly confused by all this. What happened to hubby? But I couldn't exactly ask that question. Never mind. Her call, her choice.
I booked her in at my place which, since Laura's departure from my life, had become a sort of home therapy studio. She arrived a couple of days later and I welcomed her in.
Now I want to make it clear that I have no prejudices whatsoever. I love women of all shapes, sizes, colours, races and sexual orientation. I make no judgment at all. But when it comes to massage there are occasional, shall we say, 'logistical issues.'
Fiona was a big girl. And I mean very big! Pretty and piercing eyes, but a chubby face and sporting a massive jumper over the top of what I guessed might be size 30 jeans. She marched into the room and plonked her bag on the sofa.
"I'm looking forward to this," she said with a smile, looking me up and down. "Where do I strip?"
It's not the actual size that's the problem. It's the excessive layers of fat tissue that make things a little trickier. Massage should, when done correctly, involve soothing and softening the muscles, as well as draining the lymph system. Those are a lot more difficult to reach and work on when there's a three-inch barrier of blubber. Fiona wasn't the first larger lady I had worked on, but she was the biggest so far. I took a deep breath (internally) and got to work.
I started by massaging and teasing her skin all over. She shivered as I gently stroked her back, sides, arms and legs. I applied a little more force to her back, pushing the skin aside so that I could work the muscles of her shoulders. She started moaning. So I guess the fat tissue doesn't prevent the magic, I mused wryly.
As I worked on her arms and legs I asked her a few probing questions, eventually touching on the subject of a husband.
"He's a lovely fella," she said quietly. "But no imagination."
"In what way do you mean?" I replied.
"Oh, you know. In the bedroom department." I was beginning to sense a pattern. Total breakdown of communication, I thought. Such a shame in a marriage.
We were getting close to that part of the routine where things get a little more intimate. I suggest she roll on to her back and offered an extra towel for her upper half.
"Do I need that?" she said matter-of-factly. "Vanessa told me quite a lot about what you do for her."
It's funny how people find it so difficult to ask for sexual services!
"Would you like the same?" I said simply. She nodded enthusiastically. And then, in a moment of madness, I went totally against my normal rules of engagement.
"What would your husband say?" I said, instantly regretting it.
She froze and stared at me. "Is that anything to do with this," she said and I sensed a faint trace of annoyance.
"Not at all. Sorry. You are completely in charge," I back-tracked as quickly as I could.
"I don't need his permission to have fun!" She barked, rolling on to her back. Her massive tits flopped down her sides wobbling. I was momentarily impressed by the size of her areolas, those patches of skin around the nipples. Her nipples were equally large, sticking out like stalks.
She took my hands and placed them over her tits and sighed. "I don't think he'd care anyway."
I was tinged with a little sadness for them both as I started massaging her boobs and running my hands down her tummy towards her crotch. She moaned as I stroked her vulva, sliding my fingers into the folds of her labia. At first I struggled to find her clit, but it was there, buried inside her pussy. Once I found that the rest was easy enough and she was soon moaning and bucking under my magic hands.
I was sucking gently on her nips while I fingered her and she was moaning gently. I looked up and whispered.
"Would you like to play a game?" I teased. She grinned and nodded.
"It's an imagination game," I continued. "Just something I do sometimes. Start by closing your eyes." She closed her eyes willingly, waiting for instructions. I moved my head closer to hers so that I could whisper softly.
"Imagine you're at home, naked on the bed," I began and she smiled. I gently cupped her vulva.
"Your hands are tied and you're blindfolded." I stroked the outside of her labia and she moaned.
"There's someone in the room and you're completely at his mercy. Someone you know and trust. Someone close?" It was a long shot. Fiona frowned slightly but seemed to be going along with the fantasy."
"Brad Pitt?" She murmured.
"You naughty minx! I said someone you know and trust." I held my breath.
"David, I suppose," she sighed and I felt a moment of relief.
"Wonderful," I whispered. "David approaches the bed silently and places his warm hands on your thighs."
I began teasing her pussy as I spoke, squeezing, stroking and rubbing her labia as I described how David did the same to her in the fantasy. Fiona was breathing heavily. OK, here goes, I thought. Do or die!
"David whispers in your ear "I have a present for you my love" and you hear the bedroom door open." I flicked my fingers over her clit and she squealed with delight and arched her back.
"You feel a stranger touching your feet and legs. You're powerless to stop it. David is caressing your breasts and kissing you as the stranger moves up your body and you feel his hot breath on your chest and neck."
"Is it Brad?" She chirped breathlessly. For fuck's sake, why is it always him!
"Yes, if you wish," I cooed in her ear. "It doesn't matter. You can feel his strong arms and body pressing against you."
Fiona was panting hard and writhing. I could feel her wetness oozing out of her snatch. I slipped two fingers inside.
"You feel the stranger's hard cock as he pushes into you. David is sucking your tits while the mysterious, muscular stranger begins to fuck you."
Jesus, this is making ME horny, I thought! I really quite fancied climbing aboard and giving Fiona a good seeing to myself, but I knew I had to see this through.
"Oh god, yes," she cried as I pumped her vagina with my fingers. I flicked my tongue over her nipples and she arched and came hard.
I brought her down slowly, gently stroking her arms and chest as she relaxed and recovered.
She sat up and laughed. "You obviously don't know my husband!" She chuckled with a grin.
"Probably not," I replied, trying not to sound guilty. "But I know men and I bet if you told him that story he'd be up for it."
She stared at me for a moment, then smiled.
"And would you be the mysterious stranger?" She murmured sweetly. Wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but it seemed fitting. I smiled and nodded.
It took three days exactly for the phone to ring.
"Hey Rick, it's Dave. Dave and Fiona?"
"Hi there, how's it going?"
"I don't know what you said or what you did, mate, but you're a bloody genius! I'd like to book a massage. It's for Fiona, with her full agreement this time, but I'll be there too if that's OK?" I gave myself a little pat on the back. She'll be getting more than a fucking massage, I thought to myself.
"Does next Tuesday work for you?" I replied with a grin."
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